NorthWest (John Hazard - Book II) (2 page)

Sure, he had watched all of those late night movies with ghosts, witches, demons, vampires, werewolves, and such. There were zombies, hairy beasts with big teeth and other things that bumped in the night, but those were supposed to be figments of imagination, of superstition, right? Wrong. Really wrong it seemed. If the evil, antique spirit-sucking box he had encountered on that case could exist, how many of these other things existed as well?

His fate was sealed. He could not return to the days of innocence - those happy, carefree days (carefree? yeah right, maybe when he was three years old), days of believing there’s no such thing as monsters because now he knew unequivocally that there really were monsters.

It was this one fact, this one little piece of information he had never really wanted to know, that overwhelmed him. It possessed him. It became the source of the only clear vision he had of where his life could go from here.

He would not return to small town America to work as a detective investigating robberies, assaults and old fashioned homicides. That was evil on a petty scale. Even murder between humans, mostly crimes of passion, couldn’t compete with the heinous activity that came out of the supernatural realm.

Now his destiny stretched out before him along a much darker path than he ever would have followed before. He would still perform the duties of a detective, but officially his new title would be John Hazard P.I., Paranormal Investigator. That was exactly as it was to appear on the business cards he had ordered, if the fucking things would ever come in the mail.

Three

Emily thought it seemed a little cool for this time of year as she pulled her sweater around her shoulders. She was sitting out on the deck of the coffee shop checking for jobs online with her laptop. Her latest bout of unemployment had gone on too long although she had gotten a few contracting and temporary jobs over the past three months.

The problem was that temporary jobs caused interruptions in her unemployment checks, and there was not enough money to pay the bills. She had no choice. She scanned all of the major job sites in hopes that the right one would be hiding there, that perfect job that would both pay well and allow her some free time to continue to pursue her career goals. Maybe two jobs if that is what it took to get her finances straightened out.

After finishing her scan of the regular sites, Emily went to the free site where most people posted things for sale. She clicked on Oakland, then the link for jobs. It seemed like it was going to take a long time for the site to load, so she glanced around at the clientele who had wandered in while she had been occupied.

The guy behind the counter must be new because she had never seen him before and he had put more chocolate in her mocha than she liked. There was an old man at the counter who was trying to decide what he would order and grumbling about the prices and fancy coffee and something else she couldn’t quite hear.

At one of the tables was a girl with cobalt blue hair and multiple piercings. She faced away from Emily, which allowed a view of the tattoos of dragons and snakes that extended from beneath the tank top she was wearing up her neck, to just below her earlobes where they would forever seem poised to strike. She chuckled silently, imagining thirty years in the future, as a grandmother explained to her granddaughter why she got the tattoos, and warning her never to do that to herself.

Aside from the two diverse customers and the jerk-wad behind the counter, she was alone, and she liked it that way. She returned to her screen, allowing her eyes to readjust and scanned the listings. More of the usual crap. They wanted insurance agents, financial advisors, work from home, envelope stuffers, all of the things she had already considered and been warned about, and then something new jumped out at her.

Videographer needed for documentary project. Minimum requirement: Bachelor’s Degree in communications and experience operating Steadicam and Final Cut video editing suite. Two week commitment required. Email resume to [email protected].

That sounded good except for the two week timeframe. It was going to take something more permanent to really get her bills straightened out. Still it would be nice to finally use her Communications degree for something other than a framed document on her bedroom wall. She hadn’t worked with a Steadicam before, but she had friends who did, and she had been told it is ‘just a heavier camera’. No big deal. She could fake it.

She bookmarked the website page and continued looking, but after a few minutes she found she was still thinking about the documentary project. She clicked on the bookmark and re-read the ad, then hovered the cursor over the link and clicked on it. Her email opened with a new message ready to send. She typed:

To whom it may concern,

My name is Emily Sparks. I live just outside of Oakland. I found your ad on the Internet and would like more information about the videographer position. I have a B.A. in Communication, with a minor in Film Editing. I am very interested in your project and would like to learn more of the details. Please contact me by replying to this email.

Thank you very much,

Emily Sparks

She clicked the ‘send’ button, waited until the message had cleared, closed her laptop and shoved it into her leather carry case.

She gathered her empty cup, stir stick, and used napkins and stood to walk to the trash can. She noticed the old man had left the counter and when she stepped into the aisle, she found herself face to face with a strange man.

“Excuse me, Miss.” He muttered as he hobbled past her, the smell of stale alcohol and body odor almost overwhelming her. She held her breath and smiled, politely nodding, and quickly headed out the door and back toward her apartment to print out some résumés.

Walking briskly down the busy street, Emily looked up at the clear blue sky and smiled. As bad as things were for her right now, she was not even close to approaching the circumstances of that obviously destitute old man, and if things turned out as she expected, it might be a good day after all.

Four

It was a beautiful, quiet day at the community college. Many of the students were attending a rally at the stadium and most of the people left on campus were professors and students who were just not that involved in political issues. The atmosphere on campus had been charged for months now, and it was beginning to wear on the nerves of even the passive and uninvolved.

Professor Macy Renner was sitting in her cluttered office filling out a spreadsheet of expenses that had so far accumulated for her documentary field trip project, and her face revealed her frustration. Rays of afternoon sun spiked into the room illuminating specks of dust that floated through the air like snowflakes every time she lifted a sheet of paper.

She had made reservations for a private plane to fly her class up into the national forests of the Pacific Northwest, somewhere between the states of Washington and Oregon. She’d ordered supplies and rented equipment, and even covered accommodations for an overnight stay before heading off into the wilds of the forest.

This had stretched her budget to the limit and now she had to figure out how to pay a videographer to film the adventure. Without proper documentation, it wouldn’t matter what they discovered if there was no proof of it to bring back.

The student who had volunteered to go for free backed out at the last minute and now she would actually have to pay someone to take his place. Macy was determined to make this field trip for her students happen, and she had personal reasons for doing so. That was why she had placed the ad.

She had been following a strange phenomenon for several months now. There were reports of missing aircraft, hikers and hunters in about a hundred square mile area of national forest. They had disappeared without a trace and all search and rescue operations had been abandoned in each incident. It was as though they had dropped off the planet.

Macy had analyzed all of the information she had gathered and found similarities to disappearances in the Bermuda Triangle. She figured if she could get some half decent footage, she could distribute the film. It could be a documentary on the case of the NorthWest Triangle, a place where things simply vanished forever. Maybe they’d call it “Renner’s Triangle.”

Just thinking about having the phenomenon named after her was enough to bring a smile to her face. It could finally be her chance to get some personal recognition and bring attention to her program. It might guarantee her funding at the university for years to come. Her career surely would benefit, but some of the details in the case reminded her of the horrible events that had occurred during her childhood.

The unexplained disappearance of her twin sister at the age of thirteen continued to haunt her. How could anyone shake the loss of a sister who would never be seen or heard from again? She was her twin, her other half, and the only real friend that Macy had ever had. Her loss had a chilling effect on everything in her life in the years that followed.

She picked up the framed photo of two little girls playing together, which sat at the corner of her desk. Gazing at her twin, she thought about all the secrets, the special ‘twin signals,’ and good times they had shared. What happened to you?

The involuntary cry from her heart reaffirmed why she had started this two-semester course in the first place. It wasn’t because she thought it would be interesting to study paranormal phenomenon, though that was true enough. It was because she could still remember, in brief flashes of fragmented memories, the terrifying strangers that took her and her sister over a three-year span from ages ten to thirteen years old. “Fucking aliens,” she said out loud.

It was something that no little girl should have to experience. The long cold gray fingers clenched around her legs as she was lifted from her bed, and silently, effortlessly carried upside down through her window and into an odd shaped doorway. She could hear the sounds of crying, and sometimes screaming humans, men, women and children all around her.

The brilliant flashing lights that seemed to shine right through her body burned like points of fire as she lay helpless on a transparent but solid glass table. It was all she could do to keep from sobbing as once again, in her tortured mind, she could hear the familiar screams of her sister from another chamber as the creatures worked over her with their unusual metal instruments.

A knock on her office door brought her back before she could recall what came next in this horrible flashback. “Yes?” She stood to answer it, steadying herself against the desk.

The girl opened the door and stuck her head in, “Professor Renner, sorry to bother you. I just wanted to let you know that I received an email a few minutes ago from someone regarding the online ad for videographer. Do you want me to schedule an appointment with her for tomorrow?”

“Oh, most definitely. Tell her to come in early in the morning so we can confirm our final team before lunchtime. We are down to less than forty eight hours to departure and we need to know if we are good to go or if we will need someone to pull double duty with the camera.” She set the photo back in its corner instinctively turning the photo face down to hide it from inquisitive eyes.

“Is eight o’clock okay then?” The assistant watched Macy flip the photo over and made a mental note to check it out later.

“That would be lovely. Could you please close the door for me on the way out?” She sat down and spun her chair around to face the window so the tears that had begun to flow down her cheeks would not prompt any questions.

“Sure, sorry I interrupted…” The assistant was irritated by her cold behavior, but closed the door without any further comment.

“I’m not.” Macy mumbled to herself as she stared out the window, her mind relieved for the moment from the terror of her memories.

Five

The last thing Rajesh Pradeep wanted to explain to his parents was how his engineering studies had been put on hold while he immersed himself in a half year of paranormal investigative studies. He decided it was best to keep it to himself rather than suffer the consequences. Had his father known what he was doing, it could mean the end of the cash flow that he needed to maintain his lifestyle.

He eyed the shelves in the sporting goods store trying to decide if there was anything he needed that was not on his list. Was there anything else that he might need on this trip to the wilderness? He had already invested a considerable amount in his tent, sleeping bag and mat, stainless steel dish and utensil set, flashlights, batteries, dehydrated food, canteen, and a box of condoms… just in case. Like he would really need them, but there were going to be women on the trip, and anything could happen. Secretly he wished that something would.

He looked again at his list and everything had been checked off except one thing, a hatchet. He had added the hatchet to the list because he realized they would need to have a fire to cook, and at night for light and communal discussions, but even the thought of carrying a hatchet went against his anti-violence stance. Not that he expected violence, but this was America and he had seen more violence in the two years since he had been attending school here, than he had his entire life before he came.

Still, he did want to eat and stay warm on this trip, and building a fire would be difficult without something to chop up the wood. There were various sizes and the one he chose was about as long as his arm from elbow to fingertips. He took the thing from the display rack. The rubber grip felt uncomfortable in his hand. He could have sworn that it was burning the skin ever so slightly as he held it. At that moment he rather resented his parents for instilling so many fears and foolish beliefs in him. After all, this was simply a tool, a piece of metal designed to cut wood or drive in tent stakes. It would only be a weapon in the hand of a man that intended to use it as such.